Kin
by funkymoleperson
Summary: A stormy evening brings an unexpected visitor to Yuan’s doorstep unearthing memories he’d worked so hard to burry. Yet in his painful reawakening, he may finally begin to heal. YuanRaine. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of Symphonia.**

**Summary: A stormy evening brings an unexpected visitor to Yuan's doorstep; unearthing memories he'd worked so hard to burry. Yet in his painful reawakening, he may finally begin to heal. Yuan/Raine. One-shot.

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_Kin_

He hadn't known what to think when she'd shown up that night, soaking wet and shivering, asking him with as much dignity as she could muster if he could give her shelter. Why she was out in the middle of the desert on a stormy night like this he could not fathom. He had let her in, despite his misgivings - perhaps seeing the reflection of his own prideful manner in her eyes and understanding, though he wasn't quite sure. Nothing was certain for him these days.

The base had long been emptied, so he had led her in himself, their footsteps echoing loudly in the silence, bar the distant whirr of machines. She had followed, saying not a word, a trail of water droplets falling behind her, long silver braid swaying back and forth as she walked. It made her look younger, though perhaps she had simply been older before her time.

He showed her to his office – one of the few habitable areas of the base, and fetched a towel for her which she accepted gratefully, obviously relieved that he wasn't in his usual prickly mood. He thought spitefully of throwing her out just then, but when he saw the tired look on her face and the way her shoulders slumped, reminisce of the many nights _he'd_ spent pouring over documents to suddenly drift back to a better time and lose himself to the memories, and the thought quickly faded back.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," she said dryly, looking at him, the expression gone. He sneered.

"I don't get many guests around these parts; you'd think choosing a _remote_ area prone to natural disasters of all kinds would keep people away," he replied, raising an eyebrow. She chose to ignore him.

"We both know you're curious, otherwise you would have left me out there to my fate," she said coolly. He shrugged and walked over to his desk, lounging back in his chair and fixing her with an unblinking stare. She met his eyes with a challenging snap of her head, but he did not blanch. He'd known people with a much more potent gaze then _that_.

"I'm listening," was as much as he deigned to reply when it seemed that she would not answer of her own accord. Not that needing someone else's approval to speak had ever stopped her _before_.

"I came to ask you about the Kharlan War. You're the last survivor here, and a firsthand account would be perfect for my records," she began, trying to bite back the excitement in her voice, but he heard it anyway.

"No," he responded shortly. She did not look surprised, but the disappointment was clear in her eyes. For this he would not give in so much, however. It was bad enough to have the memories haunting him every waking moment of his day, but talking about it would bring forth emotions that he had worked so hard to bottle up for many a millennia and didn't intend to release _now_.

"There is sufficient information for you in the Tower of Mana," he added firmly, and turned his back to her, indicating that the conversation was over.

When the rain let up, she was gone, though he wasn't sure at what time she had actually left. Not that time was relevant anymore. But something nagged at him…like she had almost said something _else_. He was beginning to realize that she had known all along he would refuse to answer her question, and now he wanted to know why she had really come.

It was no more than a few days later that he had gone wandering, searching for something, anything to end this cycle of agitation. He ended up stumbling upon the very person who was the cause and could _feel_ the irony of it. The faint outline of a figure stood out against one of the sand dunes a little ways off, but it was the voice that identified the person to be her; rising and falling as it followed the lines of and old song.

"Oh mayor, mayor, won't you marry us today? We've packed up our bags and want to be on our way. But you see, we must marry, and soon if you'll spare, for the ring is being carried by a flighty old hare. A flighty old hare, a flighty old hare, the ring is being carried by a flighty old hare…"

She was lying in the sand, eyes half closed; a small, sad smile upon her face. He watched her in silence for a long time until she noticed him. She started, the wistful expression gone from her features in an instant, replaced by a grim, hard look.

"How old were you?" he asked bluntly, earning himself a scowl from her, but he paid it no mind.

"Eight…eighteen," she muttered softly, sitting up and brushing sand off her back.

"And him?" _This_ earned him a glare, and he had enough decency to drop his usual smirk.

"The same," she replied, jaw set in a way that told him _she_ didn't want to talk about it either. His snort quickly turned into a noise of alarm as she jerked up, her braid snapping like a whip.

"Don't give me that look like you know better," she shouted, a hysterical note creeping into her voice. "Don't you _dare_ give me that look. You've been in a rut for four thousand years, never letting the past go. Don't think to judge me, damn you!"

He took a step back as she took a step forward, her fists clenched and her eyes flared and for a moment he thought she might strike him, but in a second she deflated, the spark gone and replaced by that same _helplessness_.

"I thought you of all people would understand," she whispered, and turned on her heal, marching stiffly away without a backward glance, and it came to him too late that he still didn't know what it is she had come for. He debated following her, but thought better of it, retreating to the walls of his memory-cave.

"_Do you know what we are?" she had asked._

"_Half-elves, Martel, but I don't see how this is relevant…" he had begun, but she'd shushed him with a look._

"_Don't forget what we are - even when we're away from all those…people who hate us. Never forget, okay?" she had asked him and he'd promised, though he didn't understand why…_

"Why…why…damnit!" he punched the wall. "Why can't I just forget?"

"Were it that simple." a voice from behind him made him jump. "You're a half-elf, or did you forget that as well? And if you haven't noticed, I am too."

And she was there. Again. Now. _Damn her._

"Wh…" he managed, before it hit him. It was so simple he wanted to scream. She was here, because…because…

"So, it's finally dawned on you," she said coldly. "About time. I was so sure that I could talk to you about it, but you decided to be a bastard and fall into self pity instead."

"Like you're any better," he snapped, and she winced. Silence fell. Finally, she sighed and threw up her hands in defeat.

"Fine, have it your way. It was a mistake from the beginning, I see it now," she said tiredly, turning away and moving towards the exit.

"Wait."

She paused. He watched her quietly for a moment, and then spoke again.

"Stay. Talk," was all he added, but it seemed enough for her. Maybe it was because he saw some piece of himself in her, some kinship that went a step beyond the mixed blood that flowed through both their veins, but something told him it was time he stopped wondering about such details.

_Fin._


End file.
